Everything Left Unsaid
by Talon Marlow
Summary: When Bruce loses someone close to him, he must reconcile his inability to let those that he loves know how he feels.


**Everything Left Unsaid**

Written by J. M. Powell

He was no stranger to death. His entire life was driven by it. He regularly observed it, and brooded upon it, and actively sought to prevent others from knowing it as intimately as he did. Like many brilliant men before him, he knew logically that it was a foe even he could not vanquish, and yet he never ceased in his struggle against it. It was his torment and his inspiration. In many ways, it had become more natural to him than life as many people considered it. Yes, he was well acquainted with death.

So why then, when Bruce Wayne finally stopped before the casket to look upon the departed one last time, did his knees threaten to drop him to the floor? He braced himself by grasping the edge of the coffin, the tips of his fingers only inches away from the lifeless form enveloped in the pillowed box. He swallowed against a dry throat, his eyes fixed on the motionless arm lying beneath his white-knuckled grasp. His hand slowly completed the journey, the fingertips brushing over the crisp fabric of a black sleeve. Bruce could feel the fragile arm beneath it, its coldness seeping through the burial garment. The shadow of a smile touched Bruce's face; only Alfred would insist on being buried in the same outfit that he worked in everyday. Only Alfred would pursue propriety even within the confines of a coffin.

Only Alfred would receive death with the dutiful countenance of which he admitted any other visitor, suffering its stay with the unfailing stoicism of a gentleman.

Uncharacteristically, Bruce jumped at the light touch of a hand upon his back. For a fleeting moment, he felt sure that it would somehow be Alfred standing behind him when he turned. The face that met him instead was comforting, all the same. She briefly stood on tiptoe, pecking him on the cheek. "I won't ask you how you're doing."

Bruce nodded, his jaw squared. "Hello, Selina. Thank you for coming."

She brushed past him and settled herself before the open casket. Bruce moved beside her, both standing silent for a still moment. "I'll miss him too," she mused softly. "I'm trying to avoid clichés here, but look at him-- he looks like he's only sleeping."

Bruce's mouth settled into a hard line. His tone had the cold finality that he often adopted under his alter ego as he informed her harshly: "He's not."

Selina's sharp green eyes whipped upon him, their accusation carrying all the sting of her signature weapon. "I know you, and I know what you'll do with this," she asserted.

Bruce met her hard gaze with his own. All around them, the muted buzz of conciliatory conversation carried on without any regard. "I may have let you in on a thing or two, Selina," he advised coldly, "but don't presume that knowing equals understanding."

Hisbrash companion scoffed. "Don't flatter yourself. You aren't that complex. Look at you. _Look at yourself _," she insisted fiercely, seizing him by both arms. "Everyone here is talking about him, about what a good man he was, and what are you doing? Trying to figure out the best way to seek justice against a peaceful death."

Bruce opened his mouth to retort, his eyes flashing with cold anger, but his face inexplicably softened. He looked away from Selina, his eyes avoiding the casket that yawned at their side. He looked instead at the general area over her head. "Do you have any ideas?" he asked quietly.

"Bruce," she whispered, placing her palm upon his face. He allowed her to guide his gaze back down to her own, the latter now warm and compassionate. "He wouldn't want you to feel this way. Why do this to yourself?"

"It's what I know," he solemnly replied. "Do you know what he was doing when he died?"

Selinafrowned andshook her head.

"He was sleeping." Bruce looked down at his feet, a muffled, morbid laugh escaping him. "Of all the things that people die from in Gotham City, Alfred died of old age."

"It must have been a very peaceful passing," Selina surmised.

"It was. For him." Bruce turned back to the coffin at last, his shoulders not as high as they usually resided. "I wasn't home when it happened. I was out making rounds." He habitually glanced around to ensure that no one was eavesdropping. "I was out trying to save the city from death, never realizing that it had chosen that night to knock upon my own front door."

Selina sighed. "You couldn't have stopped it, Bruce. Alfred was always a strong man, but he was very old. People don't live forever. Even you can't change that." Bruce stared at Alfred's tranquil face without reply. Selina allowed a moment to pass before continuing. "Don't let this be just another reason to carry on the fight. He meant more to you than that." She supportively gave his shoulder a squeeze.

Bruce tilted his head aside for a moment so that his cheek brushed the top of her hand. "He did. After I lost my parents, Alfred became like a second fa--" His face suddenly contorted with frustration. Without warning, he threw Selina's hand off and stalked toward the exit, desperate to get away from the soft lighting and floral arrangements and quiet hum of conversation. He was vaguely aware of his two wards on the opposite side of the room, their young faces observing his manner with concern and understanding. They were accustomed to his withdrawn demeanor. He knew they would not follow him. They knew better.

He knew that she, however, would. "Go ahead," Selina implored, right on his heels as he emerged into an adjacent corridor. "He was like what to you?"

"I don't do this, Selina," Bruce growled in her face as they came to a sudden halt. "I don't 'share my feelings' or whatever you want to call it. If you know me as well as you think you do--"

"I know you better than you'd like to think," she snapped. "I know very well that you don't share your feelings. But I also know that when you realize it's too late to ever do so--" she emphatically gestured in the direction of the wake room, "--you regret it."

Bruce bared his teeth in a snarl and tore his fingers through his hair. There were few people that could test his iron composure, but Selina topped the list as the unchallenged champion. "He knew how I felt!" he hotly insisted.

"What did he know?" she goaded, her face intensely beautiful in her defiance. Her eyes seemed to blaze with green fire. "That you were glad you had someone to do your laundry and make your bed?"

"I've had enough of this." Bruce turned and started walking away. He didn't like where this was going. Selina followed behind him, never ceasing.

"What then? That he made a mean turkey sandwich?"

"No!" Bruce rounded a corner and threw the main door open. It crashed into the wall after he exited (Selina ever pursuing) before slamming back onto its frame. They staked out into the April afternoon. It was warm and beautiful and fragrant with springtime. It was worse than if it had been the dreary cold of winter.

"Then _what_? What did he know, Bruce? I know one thing he knew." Selina jumped ahead of him to block his path. She placed her hands on his chest, gripping the lapel of his suit jacket. "He knew that he loved you as a son!"

Bruce seized her upper arms, nearly lifting her off her feet as he spoke. "I know that he did! I know!" He shook her once in his suffering. "I did too. I did," he vaguely insisted, his voice dying to a gravelly mumble. "I did. He knew. He knows."

Selina seemed satisfied at last. She stroked his black hair, smoothing down the parts he had upset. "He does," she promised softly.

"I never told him," Bruce admitted, so low she could barely hear him. "He practically raised me and I never said--"

Selina shook her head. "You didn't have to say it. Alfred knew you. Alfred seemed to know everything, really." She smiled at the recollection.

Bruce half-heartedly returned the gesture. "I hope so."

Her lips pursed. "You can't take for granted that everyone around you knows how you feel, though. I know you aren't good with mushy stuff. But if you act like we aren't a thorn in your side every once in awhile, none of us will think the less of you for it, you know?" She looked around his arm, back at the funeral home. He turned to follow her gaze. Dick and Tim were looking through the window at the pair, and both awkwardly shuffled away from sight when they realized they had been discovered.

Bruce looked back at Selina. She smiled sadly. "Go to them." She gently kissed his lips. He licked them when she drew back. "This has been hard on them, too. They need you now."

Bruce nodded and silently began to make the return journey. He stopped after having taken a few steps, turning to speak to her from a distance. "Selina… you said you think you know me, right?"

Selina nodded. "I know you, Bruce. I know."

Bruce held her gaze for a meaningful moment. At length, he lowly agreed, "You do." Without another word, he turned away and continued into the funeral home. The low buzz of conversation briefly wafted outinto the mild afternoon as he opened the door, and faded again into silence as Selina calmly watched him disappear behind it.


End file.
